Fast Fiction: Adding Up
Richard Mallinson reveals the unexpected secret of Edgar Parsley, one of the most ruthless financiers of his time.
Edgar Parsley, who’d made a fortune in the City during the money-mad 1980s, now worked part-time.
Of course he had no need to work at all but he had no wish to vegetate and, anyway, he liked giving advice.
His other interest these days was writing poetry. He wrote out his poems neatly in a little black notebook.
At first he’d hoped that a few of them might be published. Then, as time went by, he began to think differently.
In fact he decided that the poems weren’t meant for others to see and perhaps misinterpret. They were for him alone.
Soon they constituted his favourite book. There was no other that he dipped into as often as this, his own notebook.
One day he left it behind in the office where he worked two days a week as a consultant.
A trainee, young Vickery, flicked through it and was amazed at the explicit religious content of the poems.
It doesn’t add up, mused Vickery.
Parsley came hurrying back. ‘I must have mislaid -’ he said.
Vickery handed the notebook to him.
No, it doesn’t add up, Vickery mused again. After all, Parsley was still regarded as one of the most ruthless financiers of his time.
‘Thank you,’ said Parsley. ‘You didn’t look inside, did you? It’s all very confidential, you know.’
‘No, sir,’ said Vickery. ‘I didn’t look inside.’
‘Bloody liar,’ said Parsley, not unkindly.
